


A Commander and his Jedi

by Achromancy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Age Difference, CodyWan mention, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Qui-Gon and his Clone Commander, Qui-Gon lives au, Tenderness, Virginity, plot with sex, power bottom Qui-Gon, tsundere sub!top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achromancy/pseuds/Achromancy
Summary: You don’t have a choice, neither of us do...Miller didn’t know what to think of him at first, this man who’d never served in war, commanding forces to be sent as cannon fodder, but what he could see in those first few moments was the look of someone with their hands tied. There was always something so tender and gentle about his demeanor, the role fit clumsily, like a new set of armor needing to be tightened. Even his hands, which he’d seen wrap so deftly around the hilt of his saber were the unmarred hands of a scholar...
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Commander and his Jedi

**Author's Note:**

> *Blows kiss* For the Quiller Shippers
> 
> *Mando'a Translations (lots of swearing involved)
> 
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you  
> Kriff = Fuck  
> Kark = Shit  
> Banthakark = Bullshit  
> Haar’chak = Damn it  
> Shabuir = Fuck/Fucker  
> Di'kut = Idiot  
> Jetii = Jedi (used in this canon as more of a insult)  
> Ner = My (placed in front of Jetii would be 'My Jedi')  
> Cyare = Darling

_You don’t have a choice, neither of us do..._

That was it, the words that meant more to Miller than all of Qui-Gon’s good intentions and thoughtless actions; it was layers deeper than he thought of the Jedi. They are Peacekeepers acting as Generals in a time of war, forced into a role they were never meant to play, the fact that Qui-Gon saw it, acknowledged it, and continued through with his best efforts gave Miller more understanding than he’d had in the several months already fighting at his side.

Miller didn’t know what to think of him at first, this man who’d never served in war, commanding forces to be sent as cannon fodder, but what he could see in those first few moments was the look of someone with their hands tied. There was always something so tender and gentle about his demeanour, the role fit clumsily, like a new set of armor needing to be tightened. Even his hands, which he’d seen wrap so deftly around the hilt of his saber were the unmarred hands of a scholar.

Miller had his doubts, and as Qui-Gon had come into his role, he was quickly assured that the Jedi had no idea what he was doing. It was almost comical, the way he never seemed to take the assignments seriously, always talking in light metaphors and joking about the free-style methods he opted for. Pressing Miller and his men to make decisions based on their gut feelings, rather than strategy. He never wanted to set plans in stone; he always made room for improvisation.

It worked, Miller will admit, that this methodology was pretty effective, but he never cared to let his General know he approved, as a matter of fact, Miller fought Qui-Gon on almost everything, wanting to take a standard tactical approach, something more predictable, but the Jedi never gave him quarter.

_You should always prepare for what you can never predict._

It irritated Miller, he spent more time trying to counter Qui-Gon than actually deciding on a course of action, metaphoric ideologies were fine in the temple where him and his kind all sit and meditate, but this is _war_ , they needed to start co-operating or all of this effort is useless.

Miller got into the quick habit of expression his frustration often, normally in ways that were less than regulation, but Qui-Gon and all of his mirth actually _encouraged_ him to speak his mind, which made Miller realize he has a tendency to swear out of anger, to the point where he could probably make a bantha blush. Qui-Gon didn’t mind, in fact he looked rather pleased with himself when Miller would go off the deep end.

Sure it was well and good for burning off steam, but it wasn’t exactly the best working relationship to have between a Jedi and his Commander. Miller would often work with the 212th alongside General Kenobi and Marshal Commander Cody, it was in those instances where he would actually get to experience an ideal kind of professionalism he could only dream of, wondering how it could be possible to achieve what they had.

He wanted to ask his ori’vod for advice, anything that might help him in his current situation, but what he ended up doing was walk into a private moment between the two, putting it mildly, standing in the doorway stunned out of rational thought as the Marshal Commander stood folded over his desk with the Jedi General underneath him, completely enraptured with each other to the point of Millers intrusion going totally unnoticed. The sounds of their pleasure filled his head, the gasps and moans, words strung together in Mando’a and standard, foreheads firmly pressed together in a Keldabe kiss.

Miller finally found the strength in his legs to retreat, after a handful of seconds he stood too long, far too long, and their voices stuck, even as he blindly felt his way back to his temporary quarters.

_Cyare_. _Darling. Ner’Jetti_. _Ni kar'tayl_ _gar darasuum._

_...I love you._

His entire body flushed with the horror of what he interrupted, not just witnessing something so intimate between two people he didn’t know past friendly acquaintance, but the fact that it was _Marshal Commander Cody_ and _High Jedi General Kenobi_ , the fraternization laws broken were enough without thinking about the Jedi and their codes. It was forbidden, as far as he knew, because it wasn’t just sex he saw, but two people in _love_ , _making love_.

Miller sank to his ass, back against the door, and exhaled heavily, trying to calm the roaring blood in his ears, and the suddenly influx of warmth in his chest that made the blush on his face darken.

Karking Sith hells... a Commander and his General, a Clone and his Jedi...

It was really kriffing romantic.

Of course he wasn’t going to say anything, because he managed to get away without being noticed, he’s sure as kriff not going to test his luck further by reporting them, and how could he? They obviously care for each other, despite the rules, despite the regulations, despite the entire thrice damned _war_.

Miller covered his face as his blush spread, groaning low and muffled into his palms.

_BANTHA KARK, SITH DAMNED HELLS IT’S SO KRIFFING ROMANTIC!_

Thankfully nothing called his attention until his duties resumed the next morning, so he had time to practice pretending he didn’t see anything, even being faced with his ori’vod the next morning, he restrained the glee at seeing his older brother brandishing a certain _glow_ about him.

 _Good for you, ori’vod!_ Miller had cheered internally when the Marshal Commander turned his back.

Unfortunately this small distraction was over soon and he remembered the entire reason he’d gone to speak with Cody in the first place, and then his mind began reeling the implications, especially as he watched from behind the safety of his bucket, as Kenobi and Cody interacted in the war room. He wanted so desperately to have a relationship with Qui-Gon the way they had theirs, but their relationship was forged on something much difference than he’d anticipated.

Miller had looked at Qui-Gon, clearly it wasn’t something he could translate, it’s not like he wanted _that_ kind of relationship with him.

...Right?

-

Qui-Gon usually stands about a head taller than Miller at all times, he’s practically a wall draped in a cloak, which made strong arming him more difficult, but the Commander found himself managing just fine. It was also jarring to see him at eye level, especially in close quarters such as these.

They found themselves hiding behind crates in a droid command facility, just the two of them, after separating from their squad and breaking off into groups to cover more ground while they survey the droids in the inner hub.

Unfortunately, they weren’t accounting for the guards stationed at the door. It would be fine, they could handle themselves, but like always, Qui-Gon couldn’t help but almost purposefully push his buttons.

“Perhaps if we make for the south side,” He offers quietly.

“We can’t break formation now; the rest of the squad is expecting us to come up through the center.”

“Yes, but I can use the force to-”

Miller raises his hand, already he’d pulled off his helmet to get a better look, “We can’t risk any of them warning the others.”

“Commander, I can sense there’s no one else coming down this way,” Qui-Gon explains, “There are times when you can’t always count on intel and need to prepare for the unexpected, you should place your trust in me more often.”

“ _Would you shut the kriff up about all that Jedi banthakark?_ ”

Qui-Gon sighs, “It’s perfectly reasonable to-”

Suddenly Miller reaches out and shoves Qui-Gon further into the shadow divot they’re already barely concealed in, and he tumbles back against the wall with a light startled huff, Miller following suit his arm shoved in the slot next to Qui-Gon’s ribs, his shoulder against his chest, legs tucked under one of the Jedi’s long legs, sideways with his bucket still tucked under his arm.

“ _Miller_ -”

“Shh!” The clone hushes him sharply, head turned back into the hallway as three security droids come up from the back, if Miller hadn’t seen them turn into the hall just moments ago, they’d be in a firefight right now, totally forgoing stealth which had been the entire purpose of this operation.

“There’s only three,” Qui-Gon whispers, “If you let me out, I can-”

Miller doesn’t exactly panic more than he just reacts, his arms are caught, and he needs Qui-Gon to be quiet, and with the way they’re awkwardly cramped into possibly the most uncomfortable position possible, it only takes a second to turn his head and practically clamp his mouth over his.

The General freezes.

And then Miller freezes.

The droids approach, their mechanical voices chattering low in binary, footsteps clanking heavily on the floor in a slow drawl, approaching the hub and exchanging brief conversation with the droid guards before the door swishes open and their sounds disappear behind it. Barely ten seconds gone and they’re safe and unnoticed.

Ten seconds of contact that Miller would technically consider a kiss, especially with the way his mouth softens against Qui-Gon’s, and the Jedi seems to tilt his head ever so gently to receive it, a firm pressure between them that was alarmed is now something else entirely, something unsure and tentative that numbs his rational thought, and a flurry of emotions suddenly emerge from where he buried them, the fondness of the Commander and the Jedi, the idealization and fantasy.

Thirteen seconds now...fourteen...

Miller seems to come back into himself when he realizes he can’t breathe, and the alarm comes rising back as he pulls away sharply, something in his back twisting from the awkward angle he does it and Qui-Gon looks just as startled as he stares up at him from the cramped corner he’s stuffed in.

“The...” Miller clears his throat, speaking mechanically, “Droids came from the east wing... it’ll be clear... we can, uh, round back and regroup.” 

Qui-Gon nods, slightly mystified, and Miller bites back a quip about that being what it took to finally shut him up, instead backing out of the divot to replace his bucket and hide the firm blush crawling up his face, thankful for the plastoid armor hiding the way his body reacted to the kiss, helping filter the heat rising in his skin. Absently, he offers a hand to the Jedi, helping him out of the divot he’d shoved him in.

They check the map again to confirm their destination, before moving out in silence, sneaking back through to the east wing. They comm. the rest of the squad and adjust their plan to flank the hub, taking care of the guards and using their codes to gain access, the rest was a matter of blasting every droid inside, and within moments they relay with General Skywalker to confirm the hub is secure.

Miller shuts off the holo-pad and instructs several of his men to hold the base while they reconvene back on the Resolute, the trip back is quiet as they board Qui-Gon’s carrier, the Assurance, and dock once they hit the outer rim of the planet. After dismissing the rest of his squad, 

Qui-Gon stops him with a firm hand on his pauldron. Miller turns and is met with an almost familiar expression of remorse, the same one he’d seen moments before formally meeting the Jedi, and one he hadn’t seen since until now. It settles something sombre in him; even the quiet up until now was bittersweet.

Qui-Gon almost smiles, opening his mouth to say what he wanted to, but hesitates; instead his brow lowers with something like quiet acceptance, “I’m sorry.”

Miller stares at him, dumbfounded, unsure of what to say, his head already void of anything of much use to him past what had remained of basic training, trying to catch up to what happened between them, the rest feels like a blur of business as usual, he realises he’s had very little space to even think about it, “...yes, sir.”

With that, Qui-Gon nods, and leaves Miller to stand dumbly in the hall by himself, wondering what in the kriffing sith hells he was supposed to think.

-

It didn’t take long before Miller notice the change; Qui-Gon had almost become entirely reserved by the time the next campaign rolled around, instead of his usual not-to-useful suggestions on keeping them open for any and all possibilities, he stayed quiet and thoughtful during the briefing, only really speaking when Miller asked him a direct question, even then, his opinion was pointed and brief. Much more than that, it was actually in tow with standard regulation and strategy from previous missions.

Miller listened, pleasantly surprised by the insight, but more on edge than ever by the neutral expression he kept on the surface, it didn’t occur to him until after the briefing that Miller might have crossed the line back at the droid hub.

Never mind what Cody and Kenobi had going on, it was still illegal and, possibly even immoral what had happened between them, especially for a Jedi as old and practiced as Qui-Gon. Miller felt the uncomfortable twinge of guilt, wondering if Qui-Gon’s apology had been... rejection.

Kriff... It wasn’t Millers intention to come onto him, it was an accident, it was... sith hells he doesn’t know what came over him, it wasn’t supposed to be a kiss; he just meant to shut him up, nothing more. It doesn’t matter that it was a particularly nice one or that... Miller had never really kissed anyone like that before... or that he happened to think it was...

Perfect?

Not that he had much experience to pull from, but it felt like he always thought it might, not with Qui-Gon in particular, just... in general.

So what, it was a nice kiss, and now Qui-Gon is feeling awkward and he has to fix this before it spirals any further.

Miller sought him out in his own quarters, more or less his office if he actually bothered to do any formal paperwork, he’d gone to prepare for the next campaign as he usually did, what Miller assumes is mediation and whatever else the Jedi do to center themselves. He feels bad about interrupting, but he’d feel a lot worse letting this go on any further.

He chimes the door and is let in pretty much immediately, the door slides open and Miller is practically assaulted by a thick cloud of spice and incense as it almost billows out of the room. The lights have been dimmed, and the room darkens further as the door closes behind him. The energy of the room is so distinctly _Qui-Gon_ that Miller stands stunned, the feeling of intrusion almost overwhelming him, at this point he’d rather stand outside the door to speak with him.

“Miller,” Qui-Gon is sitting on a rounded cushion near one of the bay windows observing space, his heavier brown robe discarded and laying neatly on the desk across from him, his lighter cloak underneath revealing the broadness of his shoulders and chest. His eyes are closed, hands circled in his lap as he greets the Commander without breaking his trance.

“Sorry, sir, I don’t mean to interrupt...”

“No apology necessary, please,” He motions to the desk where his robe sits, the chair empty, “Join me.”

“I’m not really good at...” Miller rubs the back of his head, “Uh... meditation.”

“But I sense you _are_ troubled, please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Miller shuffles on his feet, nervous, maybe because he’s so out of his element; it feels like he stepped into one of the room of the kriffing Jedi Temple, it’s... well it’s nice, but it’s not exactly anywhere he expected to be, he’s used to places like Kamino, all while and sterile, featureless, this was... a lot.

“I wanted to talk about what happened at the hub, sir,” Miller states, forcing his voice steady and professional, “It was not intentional, the uh... the _kiss_.”

Qui-Gon opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Miller directly, it sends a bolt straight through him and he fumbles with his words despite his best effort, “I-It was an accident, all I meant to do was keep the clankers from spotting us, and then I... I don’t know what happened, but I never meant to break regs or make you break your code, I know that’s important to you Jedi, and uh... kriff, I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again, so we can just forget it...”

Miller had trailed his gaze away in the middle of his half-karked apology and when he glances back at Qui-Gon he’s _smiling_ , and Miller has no idea why, but he also starts to laugh, a light amused chuckle that seems to reverberate all around him, it’s the first time the Commander has heard it so warm and _genuine_. It makes his heart rate spike, stunned on his feet and totally perplexed.

“Miller,” Qui-Gon runs a hand over his mouth, gently stifling himself, clearing his throat, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I-I don’t...” Miller stutters through his blush, “General, I don’t understand...what the kriff is going on?”

Qui-Gon hums thoughtfully as his hand lowers to stroke his short beard, “Ah, this is my fault... I haven’t been completely forthright with you, and I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you so worried.”

“Alright...” Miller murmurs tentatively, “Um, thank you?”

“Miller,” Qui-Gon begins slowly, as if choosing the right words to say, “The way the force works is at times... difficult. Someone who is _force sensitive_ can be more susceptible to the energy of those around them.”

The Commander narrows his eyes suspiciously, “...You can’t read my mind, can you?”

Qui-Gon smiles again, amused, “No, no... This is similar, but not in the way you assume, it’s less about reading one’s _mind_ , and more about reading ones _feelings_. You see... when you kissed me, whether or not you had the intention to do so, you ended up... _projecting_ a lot of unsaid things. Perhaps things you didn’t know were even there, your frustrations, fears, desires... specifically to work under a General who is... much less _free spirited_ than I.”

Miller feels his stomach curl with mortification, swelling with guilt, “Oh,” His voice wavers, “Oh, _kriff_ , Qui-Gon, I-I didn’t mean-”

The Jedi lifts a hand, “It’s alright, I understand. I don’t take any offense; in fact, I’ve been trying to act more like the kind of General you deserve to work under. I know you have very little say in what you do with your life, especially due to this war and everything that follows, the truth of the matter is, you don’t have a choice, neither of us do... I suppose I was... trying to keep things interesting, fun.”

“ _Fun?_ ” Miller repeats mechanically, totally side-lined by Qui-Gon’s sincerity.

“Yes, and I was under the impression that you enjoyed our little dynamic, I felt like giving you the freedom to voice your opinion and act as you saw fit would give you ease, but it seems I was entirely wrong and I...” Qui-Gon’s gaze lowers a fraction, that familiar remorse returning, “I am very sorry about that.”

Miller doesn’t know how to respond, he just nods, swallowing heavily, trying to process what he’s being told, but it feels like its smacking against a blockade.

“If what I’m doing still isn’t enough,” Qui-Gon sighs, “I can co-sign for a transfer. It’s not much, but it’ll make the paperwork process much faster through the system, and we can get you situated elsewhere. I’ll be more than happy to aid in the process-”

“ _Transfer?_ ” Miller sputters, taken aback in such a whirlwind it feels like someone lobbed him in the back of the head, “I don’t want a _kriffing_ transfer, what I want is for you to stop acting so _karking_ weird!”

Qui-Gon blinks at him, surprised.

“I don’t want to work under another Jedi,” Miller snaps, “And I’m sure as _kark_ not about to be passed off!”

A sudden panic rises in the Jedi as he swivels on the cushion, standing so fast that his hair billows, “No, Miller, I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t want another Jedi, I just want _you_ to be real with me!” Miller barks, “I know this war is _banthakark_ , I’ve been _living_ in it this whole time, _no_ amount of help from you is going to make that okay, but this _sith kriffing_ act of yours sure isn’t making it any _karking_ easier!”

The hurt in his expression is clear, it flashes briefly before Qui-Gon reserves himself, hands curling together as they normally wound under the sleeves of his cloak, he bows his head a little with a forlorn sigh.

Miller feels the blush of anger hot in his face, he’s trembling, and he passes a hand through his standard crew cut to try and calm himself, but the betrayal begins to surface, whether or not he actually wants to believe that Qui-Gon is acting in his best interest, he feels as though he’s being discarded.

 _It didn’t work, so you’re going somewhere else, to another Jedi, but_ Miller doesn’t _want_ that, he wants to _stay_ , he wants to _figure this out_ , he wants to _stay with Qui-Gon._ This irritating wall of a Jedi, with his pleasant demeanour and sideways perspective, his gentle smile and even gentler eyes, his comically bad whimsy and inane suggestions... what in the sith hells would Miller do without it?

What would he do if he didn’t have Qui-Gon?

“Miller,” Qui-Gon says quietly, bringing his gaze back up, “I would like to make this right, is that at all possible?”

Miller scratches at the short curls at the base of his hairline, his brow furrowing as he pushes through a wall of emotion without betraying that he’s holding back tears, “Don’t get rid of me.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon almost leaps forward, speaking quickly in reassurance, “I don’t want to send you away, Miller, stars, I’m only giving you the choice if that’s what you wanted.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Miller shakes his head, “This thing we have isn’t perfect, and maybe I wish sometimes that we were more like Kenobi and Cody, but we’re not... and I don’t want you to act like you know what I want or what I deserve, I’m not your Padawan, I just want you to be _honest_... I want to know the _real_ Qui-Gon.”

The Jedi pauses for a moment, almost sombre, “You... realize there may be a chance you don’t _like_ the real Qui-Gon.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as what I’ve seen so far.”

“Could be _worse_ ”

“I’ll _karking_ deal with it,” Miller snaps, “I just don’t want to be lied to anymore.”

Qui-Gon inhales deeply, his brows knitting together, “I understand... I should leave you to prepare for the next campaign, you’ll let me know when we reach the next system, won’t you?”

“I’ll notify you sir.”

“Very good, that’ll be all, Commander.”

-

It was difficult for Miller to say what exactly he was feeling after leaving Qui-Gon’s office, but it wasn’t exactly relief. He had some time before they reached the next system to really think about what had happened, all of it, including his own raw emotions coming to the surface like they did.

He wanted to matter, above everything, he wanted to be important to Qui-Gon, that’s what he and his brothers were supposed to be to the Jedi, and he couldn’t help feeling like he’d been left behind. If it wasn’t a romance like Kenobi and Cody, it was the camaraderie between Skywalker and Rex, or the familial bond between Koon and Wolffe. Qui-Gon had been so preoccupied with trying to keep Miller in a place of fantasy that he didn’t allow the Commander to get close, to _bond_.

That’s what hurt most about it all, Qui-Gon wanted more to displace Miller somewhere else instead of trying to make his side more welcoming, because he felt as though he wasn’t enough, because he never wanted to be in this thrice karked war?

_You don’t have a choice, neither of us do..._

Miller balled his fists, the rising urge to hit the wall forming in his chest as he sat alone in his quarters, it was _banthakark_... of course they had a choice, at least some semblance of one in the middle of all this hell, and maybe that’s what Qui-Gon had been trying to encourage this whole time. Realizing that even though they don’t have a say in whether or not they fight, they do have a choice in areas within their control.

Miller had kept his crew cut for a long time, his paint was in the color of their battalion, but it was basic. Taking one look at him without his uniform and he was a cut-out copy of every new clone in rotation. Somehow Qui-Gon saw past that, somehow Miller had become an individual in the eyes of the Jedi, with all of Miller’s stubborn mirth, he’d fought against Qui-Gon’s encouragement almost out of spite for his flippancy, but now he’s realizing that maybe he was right.

A hard sigh escapes him like a growl and he reaches for his data-pad, searching up images and scrolling through a bombardment of images in different styles and colors, unsure of where to even start, trying to think past his own image of what it meant to be in his position and searching for something that sat deeper.

He found what he thought he was looking for, and then saved it, laying back on his cot to stare at the ceiling.

-

The campaign went by relatively smooth, it was mostly recon on a planet-side backwater that had fallen into Imperial control, they had managed to set up a perimeter, disrupt communications, and relocate many of the areas civilians for temporary housing while they cleared out what remained of Imperial influence. It was a relief to stay busy and out of his own head for that long week, he fell back into routine and his worries seemed to slowly fade into the background. Qui-Gon and he kept their own interactions brief, the Jedi more concerned with how the civilians were coping with the displacement, and counselling those having difficulties, they never really had a chance to test the waters on what they talked about before.

However, Qui-Gon would pass him a reassuring nod everyone now and again, something to reaffirm their understanding, and Miller was feeling hopeful.

On the evening of their seventh day in the new camp location outside the newly liberated town, Miller had to confirm with the General that they were ready to begin preparations for departure the following morning, and found him sitting on the edge of a sheer drop cliff bordering the valley that housed the backwater. It was quite a view; the planet was practically barren everywhere but these small fractures of lush plant life that sustained the small population.

“Sir, we need confirmation for departure for the next cycle,” Miller said, handing the data-pad over to Qui-Gon, “Should be three hours standard before sunrise, we should head out before the suns get too high.”

Qui-Gon makes the necessary confirmations and hands the pad back to him, “That’s too bad, I rather like this planet.”

Miller moves to step back and leave him to his meditation, but hesitates, now that his head is clearer and he’s had some time to think properly, he realizes that he still has something left to say. So he steps over a little and sits down next to Qui-Gon, his plastoid armor preventing him from getting as comfortable as the Jedi, _how the kriff does he cross his legs like that_ , so he lets his legs dangle over the cliff side.

“I never thanked you,” Miller starts, idly picking at a few stingy blades of plain grass that snap like ice when he touches them, “Before... for listening to what I had to say.”

“There’s no need,” Qui-Gon hums, “I value your thoughts, Miller, even if they’re accompanied by a colorful vocabulary.”

Miller snorts, “Yeah, I have you to thank for that. I never swore when I was a cadet.”

“I can’t image the Kaminoans would have been impressed if you did.”

The Commander hums in agreement, and then sighs, “I didn’t want to leave it like that... being angry.”

“It’s alright,” Qui-Gon reaches over and gently places a hand on top of his, “You had every right to be upset, it gave me much to think about.”

Miller swallows heavily, feeling the pressure of his hand even through his synth weave and glove plate, “And... what exactly did you figure out?”

Qui-Gon looks at him sincerely, “I have been resisting this role since the beginning, I know that, and I know it’s made it difficult for you, I am sorry. Being here on this planet, working with the natives, and realizing we are doing _some_ good in the middle of everything else made me realize that I would like to do _more_ , I would like to do _better_ , and I need you by my side if I want to achieve that.” 

Miller feels the emotion swell in his chest, “I’d like that, sir.”

Qui-Gon smiled and turned to observe the valley once more, the two shared the quiet silence, listening to the tribal drums and alien vocalizations coming from the town below as they celebrated their freedom from the Imperials. It’s then that Miller made up his mind about the picture he saved on his data-pad, and as soon as they returned from the campaign, he sought out one of his vode who had experience with tattooing.

-

He felt freer, somehow, when he looked into the mirror that next morning. It took a little manipulation with a secondary mirror, but he got a good look at the artwork his vod had produced, a bright and colorful Millaflower on the back of his skull that expanded to his ears and down to the base of his neck. Most of his crew cut had to be shaved to suit the new image, but he still had hair on the top of his head, and it looked _good_ , it felt more like him than the standard cut had ever.

Miller was shorthand for the name his batchers gave him when they found out he’d gotten 99 to help him smuggle in a data-pad filled with cheesy romance novels, outer-world novelizations of lovers overcoming all odds to be together, whether it was due to their race, being worlds apart, or tragically separated by bad luck, Miller ate it up. He was reading one called ‘Millaflower Promise” when he was discovered in a maintenance closet and had the data-pad confiscated. The nickname ‘Millaflower’ was mostly a tease, but it stuck, and when he finally past basic training, he shortened it to ‘Miller’ to save everyone time.

It seemed appropriate, given that Miller still often requisitioned those same novels and killed time between jumps reading them, it spoke to him as something so uniquely his, something he’d had since the beginning that wasn’t the result of some mutation in his genes, or leak in his tank, it was his because he was an individual, a testament against just being one clone in a hundred million.

Then was the true test of gall, standing at the entrance of the war room with his bucket on, summoning the courage to actually take it off... He doesn’t regret getting it done; he’s just worried about what Qui-Gon is going to think. It irritates him that the Jedi’s opinion at this point could make or break his resolve at this point, but it’s not like he can walk around in full armor forever.

Finally he pulls it off, feeling the air hit his newly exposed skin, and he tucks his bucket under his arm before joining his General. Qui-Gon had said before that he can sense when people walk into a room, part of the force, or whatever, so he turns to greet Miller as he approaches the holo-map.

He looks surprised, but in a good way, as he raises a hand to stroke his beard, “Ah, Miller, I see you’ve finally taken my advice.”

Miller deflates a little, relieved that he doesn’t disapprove, but he was really hoping this wouldn’t turn into an ‘I told you so’. He sighs, “Needed a change, that’s all.”

“Well I’m glad,” Qui-Gon continues as he passes him by, “It looks very...”

The Jedi’s voice fades quite abruptly, and Miller tries to fight the betraying flush as it begins to stretch across his cheeks, standing just shy of the holo-map to set his bucket down and begin typing in the coordinates of the next star system they’re being sent to. Qui-Gon doesn’t finish what he was saying; instead he joins Miller with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, glancing sideways at the Commander with an expression he can’t read.

“ _What_?” Miller asks sharply.

Qui-Gon blinks, “You have a tattoo.”

“Very observant, general”

Qui-Gon stares at him, almost perplexed, and Miller continues his calculations in silence before he jolts, feeling the Jedi’s cool hand as he places it on the still sore skin recovering from the process, thumb lightly brushing against the bright and colorful ink, “It’s beautiful.”

Miller feels his entire heart lodge right into his throat.

“The Millaflower has very potent healing properties,” Qui-Gon murmurs, gently brushing his hand down to rest against the back of his neck, “On Naboo, its often gifted to those as a gesture of respect, they grow it in gardens and use it in tea and dyes.”

Miller swallows heavily as a shudder crawls down his spine from the contact, warming across his shoulders, and he unconsciously leans back into it, “I didn’t know that...” He mutters.

“You were named for it, weren’t you?” The Jedi smiles, “It suits you.”

“...thank you, sir.”

After a moment, Qui-Gon retracts his hand, tucking it back into his sleeves, those scholarly hands so expressive in the moments they weren’t hidden away, Miller watches them disappear with an unfamiliar sense of longing.

“Master Ti often joked with me about receiving you as my Commander,” Qui-Gon explains, “As if she were gifting me a Millaflower from Naboo, a gesture of her respect for me.”

Miller looks at him, smirking, “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

When Qui-Gon smiles, it arches his eyes, and brightens his entire face, “Neither could I, dear one.”

-

It wasn’t easy to admit to admit to himself, but Miller had come to realize that his feelings for the General had become something of a more _personal_ nature. He dismissed the longing as something more of a craving for a bond that a Commander and his Jedi would have, but he soon realized that it was much deeper than that. It wasn’t just reoccurring thoughts of the kiss, or of Kenobi and Cody, but the idea that as long as he had to be here, fighting a war that he was born and bred for, didn’t he have the right to secure a little bit of happiness?

They put themselves at risk every day, one moment Miller could be gone, or Qui-Gon could be gone, and he might be swallowed up by the regret of not acting on his selfishness a little sooner. Even if it was temporary, he deserved it while it would last. The question is, whether or not Qui-Gon would reciprocate.

Miller had his suspicions about the Jedi’s feelings, it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the light intimate touches that he would offer Miller in times of quiet, whether it was a gentle stroke on his arm, his back, or even against his hand, it was the way he rushed to his side on the field when Miller had taken a blaster bolt to his calve, not hesitating to carry him to the medic through the fire.

Qui-Gon cared for Miller, he just wasn’t entirely sure if it was the way Miller wanted, or if it was even allowed with that Jedi code he had to follow. He knew they weren’t celibate, but that wasn’t what the Commander was looking for, not in the mechanical way his vode would relay at the end of leave. Miller wanted it to mean something, he always had, and it’s part of the reason he never...

 _Kriff_... it doesn’t matter if they make this any more than it already is, Miller just wanted to love and be loved, if that meant just being _near_ Qui-Gon more often, that would be fine with him.

Miller rises from his cot, it’s late and he has to be awake early, but he can’t sleep with all these whirling thoughts in his head. He hopes that at least getting a straight answer from Qui-Gon will help settle his turmoil; and he can expect he’ll be kind in rejection if that’s what it ends up being.

He chimes the door to Qui-Gon’s personal chambers, stepping aside to wait, and doesn’t expect the door to open as quickly as it does, he almost trips on his own feet turning to face the Jedi stepping out from the darkness of the room, and his heart seizes at the sight of him.

Qui-Gon’s hair is down and hanging loosely parted on the side, framing the one side of his face, and his robe dips almost down to his navel, revealing a narrow strip of his chest and the light brush of hair following, and only hangs a hand width above his knees. 

“Miller,” He looks concerned, “Is everything alright?”

All of Miller’s resolve drains as he tries and fails to find a place to rest his gaze comfortably, “I’m fine,” He swallows, “I just... I couldn’t sleep.”

Qui-Gon searches his face for a moment, “Neither could I.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Miller clears his throat, “I won’t keep you, I just... I wanted to ask you something...”

“I don’t mind” Qui-Gon smiles and gestures to his cabin, “Won’t you come inside?”

Miller feels his pulse begin to race, “Uh, I won’t be long, it’s just,” He rubs the back of his head, “I know I already apologized about kissing you, but...”

“Oh,” Qui-Gon’s brows rise, “You didn’t need to apologize, I didn’t mind the kiss at all, it was very nice.” 

The heat rises in his face as he sputters, “Um... a-alright, good. I-I’m glad... It’s just... with the Jedi code and everything, I wasn’t sure if I...”

“Miller,” He chuckles lightly, “I don’t know if I’ve already made this clear, but I don’t care much for the Jedi code.”

“Wait, you...” Miller hesitates, “You don’t?”

“I never have” He shakes his head with a mild sigh, “I’ve given my fair share of grief to the council, not unlike young Skywalker, which is why I don’t have a seat.”

“Oh...” Miller responds, his voice small, fumbling with the hem of his blacks.

Qui-Gon presses a hand to his chin, looking at him curiously, “And this interests you?”

“ _No_ , I mean... _yes_ , I just... wanted to make sure there weren’t... any...hard feelings...” Miller voice devolves into nearly a whisper, “...that’s all.”

“I see,” The Jedi nods, watching intently as the Clone Commander steadily crumbles to pieces in front of him, “Are you sure you don’t need to talk?”

“Yep,” Miller nods, “Yes, I’m sure. That’s all... uh, goodnight, general.”

As he turns to make his hasty retreat, Qui-Gon reaches out and stops him, Miller feels his entire world come to a crashing halt as he turns to face him, the Jedi’s expression fond as his hand is pressed firmly against his chest.

“Miller, I know there’s something bothering you,” He says gently, “Whatever it is, I want you to know that you can tell me.”

 _Kriff... KRIFF_.

Miller stares at him, slightly captivated by his expression and the pressure on his chest, his blood beginning to run hot as he nods mildly.

“Won’t you please stay?” Qui-Gon finally asks.

“Stay?” Miller repeats dumbly, his nerves lighting up from Qui-Gon’s touch, his heart so high in his throat he’s worried it’ll jump right out of his mouth and take off in his stead.

“Please,” The Jedi repeats softly, reaching down to give Miller’s hand a guiding tug towards him, and the Commander finds the strength in his legs to follow, his entire body feeling like he’s lit up from head to toe, the way his hand curls against his palm, twining their fingers together.

He’d never noticed the stark contrast between them; not just in skin tone, but with how rough and calloused Miller’s hands were compared to his, Qui-Gon felt like silk, so much cooler than his, Miller wondered aimlessly if that’s why they were always tucked away. Miller raises his opposite hand, covering Qui-Gon’s, warming them.

“General,” Miller murmurs, trying to find the words he’d practiced, “I... um, I think I...”

“I know, dear one, it’s alright,” Qui-Gon assures him.

Miller looks back up at him, startled, “You _know_?”

Qui-Gon only smiles gently, and steps back, guiding Miller inside his cabin, the door shuts behind them, and like his office, this space smelled of the same spices and incense, not as strongly, but accompanied by the faint smell of herbal tea, soft linens, and something so uniquely his.

Miller gasps lightly as Qui-Gon steps closer, into his space, almost touching, the ends of his robs catching on his blacks, and he finds himself surrounded by his energy, the soothing aura of him, and he can feel him all around, smell him. He exhales a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want...” Miller swallows, his voice sounding so rough and nervous in the quiet, “If this is just going to be about sex...”

“I know,” Qui-Gon repeats gently, “I know you want more than that.”

“...and what do you want?”

Qui-Gon reaches up to caress his jaw, angling it up so they can meet each other’s eyes in dim light, he knew, somehow, either because Miller wasn’t as tactful about hiding his feelings, or maybe it was some Jedi thing that Miller wasn’t aware of, but it all seems to come circling back down to the fondness in his eyes.

“Miller,” his thumb gently grazes his chin, his voice a light murmur, “I am very fond of you. I have been for a long time. I was only waiting for you to come to me yourself; it didn’t feel right telling you how I felt until you were ready to process your own emotions.”

The relief comes crashing into Miller like a Kaminoan tidal wave, rising irritation and indignation in his chest at the thought of him waiting so long to say anything when Qui-Gon has felt this way the entire time, “ _Haar’chak_ ,” Miller cusses, pressing a hand against Qui-Gon’s so he can turn and kiss his palm, tentatively despite his annoyance.

Qui-Gon grins like the damn sun and laughs warmly to follow, always amused with the colorful vocabulary Miller adopted early into their companionship, and it seems only fitting that he reciprocate with it as well, his frustration making him brave enough to actually respond, despite his heart thundering in his chest so hard it’s difficult to breathe.

The Commander and the Jedi...

Miller smiles too, and turns his face into the tender palm of the Jedi to hide it and the dark blush across his cheeks.

Then Qui-Gon gently urges his Commander to look him in his eyes, and Miller practically shudders against the vulnerability of being so close, his expression open to be read by the Jedi, “I’m very much aware this may not last,” He says, “if we win _or_ lose the war, no one knows what’ll happen in either case. Despite this, I would like to be happy for a little while... would you?”

Miller nods, his chest glowing with fondness that matches the color on his face, the Jedi practically mirroring him in his intention feels like something far surpassing his wildest dreams, he half-expects to wake up back in his cot with no answers and an aching heart, “Yeah... yeah that sounds nice.”

With his hands on either side of his face, Qui-Gon leans down and kisses him, chaste and feather-light, the complete opposite of, what might be technically considered their first kiss, but all the same Miller feels the hum of nerves against his skin, the shudder that crawls along his back. He reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Qui-Gon’s neck, fingers running through his long soft hair as it settles and gently pulls him closer. The Jedi responds with a pleased hum and then reaches down to pull their bodies flush. Miller jolts against the pressure of their hips together and he pulls back with a hard gasp, panting, as Qui-Gon looks down at him with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m just...” Miller glances up at him sheepishly, he wasn’t really expecting this to progress like that, this quickly, he knows what his body is telling him, but he’s concerned it’s happening too fast, they only just confessed their feelings, should there be some kind of recovery? “I don’t really know... what I’m doing. I’ve never...uh...”

“Oh,” The Jedi realizes, and then he lifts his hands with a graceful jerk, “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“N-no it’s okay,” He stutters, shocked by the sudden loss of contact as his skin buzzes, unsure now of what he wants, to be touched, to be loved, to be...?

“Miller,” Qui-Gon takes both of his hands in his, sensing his trepidation, “I’m happy you told me, I didn’t mean to push you into anything, dear one, we don’t have to keep going.”

The Commander smiles crookedly, suddenly very bashful at the gentle way his Jedi handles him, the unexpected concern with his general lack of experience, it makes him feel... important... cherished in a way, not like he was something made of glass, but rather an individual with needs and wants.

“It just...” Miller mutters with a light distracted chuckle, “wasn’t something that ever happened to me, y’know?”

Qui-Gon nods, reaching up to cup his cheek, “I understand, it happens, or... doesn’t, in this case. Do you... mind if I ask?”

Miller flushes, somehow deeper, “Oh, no, it’s alright, um... I’ve _kissed_ , briefly, but I’ve never been with anyone else, _like that_ , it’s always something I took care of... uh... _myself_ , so I never really saw the need to... I guess.”

“That makes sense, but do you know what to expect?” Qui-Gon asks, “Being with a man?”

Miller clears his throat, his personal tastes are definitely reserved for men, whether it’s because he was raised with only brothers, he’s not sure, but he’s confident it’s exclusive, that being said, he’s not exactly sure about the details, only what it sounds like from his vod, “My brothers have talked about it before, and I’ve read a lot of...books.”

Qui-Gon looks suddenly interested, “What kind of books?”

“Uhh...” Miller glances aside, a little ashamed, “romance novels, mostly.”

Qui-Gon blinks at him, and then a sudden grin appears, “You read harlequin holos?” he asks in low and playful voice.

Miller blushes hard in indignation, “ _Don’t laugh_.”

“I won’t, I promise,” He assures, clearly hold it back judging from the light flush of color on his cheekbones, “It’s just not exactly the best reference material, too idealistic.”

“I’m beginning to realize that... _kriff..._ ”

Qui-Gon smoothes his thumb over Miller’s chin, amused, “Don’t worry, you’re not a lost cause, this is something we can work with, just know that its far less poetic than the books make it seem, there’s plenty of room for error, and that’s alright, as long as we’re enjoying each other.”

Miller feels his blush creeping higher, sending heat pooling downward, _kriff_ he’s in trouble, the man has barely touched him... this isn’t anything like the holos.

“Miller,” Qui-Gon looks at him seriously, “Is this something that you want?”

Miller tries to swallow but finds his mouth is very dry, “Uh... right now?”

“If you’d like,” He offers gently, “If not, another time... if not later, then never, it makes very little difference to me.”

“You’d be alright with that?” Miller furrows his brow, confused.

“Miller, I care for you very much, I want you to feel heard and comfortable. That form of intimacy isn’t as important as everyone makes it out to be, it’s very nice, but not necessary. There are many different ways to love someone and that is only one of them.”

Miller had never been put off by the idea, in fact it was something he somewhat had been looking forward to if and when it ever finally happened to him, it was just the inconvenience of his lack of experience that made it difficult, the option to never sleep together was very comforting, but...

He thinks back to Kenobi and Cody, he’d thought about that a lot, less about how it might _feel_ and more about how _connected_ the two of them were, how they were so enraptured that they didn’t notice him intrude. Miller _wanted_ that same bond. He thought about belonging to someone like that, exclusive and loved; not like a soldier to his general, but a man to the man he loves. 

“I’d like to... do that,” He finally says lowly, easing closer to the Jedi with a bashful bow of his head, “I want to experience that... with you.”

Qui-Gon guides his eyes back up to his, smiling at him in gentle adoration, and Miller’s hands hover for an instant before tentatively settling onto his waist, his robe so thin that he can feel the sturdiness of his hips, it’s so visceral by itself, and wanted to know more of that, he wants to _see_. 

“Are you certain?” Qui-Gon asks softly.

“Yes,” Miller pulls him a little closer, their hips just barely touching, unsure if he should pull them taunt like Qui-Gon had earlier, he can already feel his warmth against him and his voice slips out like a light moan, the want is getting stronger now, almost out of his control, “Please.”

Qui-Gon hums fondly and leans forward to press their foreheads together, Miller’s heart leaps from the Keldabe, surprised by Qui-Gon’s knowledge of his culture customs, he needs to remember to ask him about it later, but not now, definitely not now.

Miller lets out a soft sigh as he leans into the contact, Qui-Gon running his hands soothingly down his arms, “We can stop at any time, all you have to do is say so.”

“Qui-Gon,” Miller huffs, finally past the point of uncertainty, “Just kiss me already.”

The Jedi chuckles with amused intrigue, and then tilts his head to dip and press their lips together firmly, lingering for a moment as Miller exhales a soft moan against the pressure, his hands sliding up Qui-Gon’s sides, around to his abdomen and to his firm chest slightly revealed by the low dip of fabric, he’s seen him without his cloak, very briefly, and was surprised how stocky the Jedi was, his robes gave the impression of someone leaner, Miller would be lying if he said he wasn’t stirred by it.

The kiss quickly becomes more heated, Qui-Gon leading him through the motions of his lips, cupping his jaw to direct him and pull his breath from his chest, gently gasping as his focus is pulled to the sensation of his tongue against his lip, how they meet with an unfamiliar wetted texture and Miller finds himself keening at the way Qui-Gon steals the air right from his lungs almost possessively.

Their hips meet once more, firstly by Miller pressing more firmly against him, then by Qui-Gon reaching down with his free hand to pull them together with a light tug that makes Miller gasp hard, holding him there as he reaches up and begins to slide his fingers under the hem of his blacks and onto his stomach.

The buzz of unfamiliar contact has the Commander roll his hips instinctually, jerking hesitantly as he feels the Jedi’s length against his own, shuddering against Qui-Gon’s mouth as the older man licks and bites at the clones lower lip. His blacks rise higher to reveal his chest, bunching around his collarbone, before it’s pulled off and over his head, and he’s standing panting and dizzy as Qui-Gon takes a step back to carefully discard the shirt onto a chair nearby.

Then Miller is being gently led further into the cabin, Qui-Gon taking his hands and stopping them as the foot of his cot. Miller leans up to kiss him again, practically starving, but the Jedi stops him, “Ah,” He says gently, “Sit down.”

Miller hesitates, taking a moment to process the instruction through the hum of nerves and the swell of his body’s demands, before he swallows nervously, and does what he’s told, watching, misted as Qui-Gon kneels in front of him, pulling his long silvering hair back and out of his face, fastening it in a low pony tail. Then he reaches down to pull the Commanders regulation boots and knitted socks off, setting them aside. When he stands on his knees, he’s only just shorter than Miller as he sits, and he reaches forward to pull him closer, so his knees are on either side of his waist.

“How are you?” Qui-Gon hums.

Miller’s entire body feels like it’s on fire, he shifts against the uncomfortable pressure in his regulation trousers, wishing that Qui-Gon would shift closer, keep touching him, he just wants him to keep touching him, “...good, I’m... I’m good,” he mutters dryly.

Qui-Gon is clearly much better at restraining himself than the young clone, then again he’s had much more experience and already has the penchant for patience, Miller isn’t sure if he prefers this pace to one more feverish and frantic, but call him _impatient_. _Haar’chak, touch me you_ _kriffing_ _jetti_.

Qui-Gon smiles in a knowing way, which convinces Miller that he’s far too easy to read, and then kisses him again, this time his mouth works gently down his jaw, under his ear and grazing his teeth down the tendril of his neck that has Miller suck in a sharp breath, moaning as his hand comes up to brace against the back of the Jedi’s neck, hips jumping as his thumbs slide up from their hold to roll against his nipples.

Qui-Gon’s mouth works down his chest and Miller leans back on his hand, panting and groaning through the lavishing attention as the trail of the Jedi’s mouth becomes hotter, reaching his navel and Miller can no longer breathe. His skin is on fire and his jolts when Qui-Gon trails his hand down his thigh, sliding between his legs and palming him over his trousers.

“ _Sith hells,_ ” Miller gasps, rolling his hips desperately against his touch, moaning raggedly when the Jedi gives him a light squeeze, firmly grinding his palm against his length, “ _Ah, Qui-Gon_...”

The Jedi rises back up to his lips, and Miller returns the kiss heatedly, arms bracing around his broad shoulders as he arches into him, then he feels fingers dip into the hem of his trousers and his mind goes numb. Qui-Gon’s deft and scholarly hands wrap around his length with precision, gripping him at the base and firmly dragging his thumb along the underside of his shaft as he pulls him out. Miller lets out a choked gasp, shuddering and gasping as Qui-Gon catches all of his moans with a powerful kiss, the younger inexperienced man curling his fingers into his thin robe, holding onto Qui-Gon for dear life as he unravels him with a slow methodical hand.

Then he pulls away, leaving Miller to arch in search for it with a hot whine, so close to finishing, parting from Qui-Gon as he pants, relishing in the sight of the Jedi’s glazed eyes and flushed complexion.

“You’re alright?” Qui-Gon murmurs gently. 

Miller nods, swallowing uselessly between heavy breaths, desperate, “Don’t stop, please...”

The Jedi chuckles fondly, and then gives him a light break in attention as he discards the rest of his clothes in the same caring fashion as before, leaving Miller as naked as his decantation, his member aching and flushed dark to the tip, weeping as it is ignored further by Qui-Gon reaching up to kiss him again instead of gripping him once more.

The Commander could almost bawl with how close he is already, its _torture_ , “ _Qui-Gon, please_ ,” He whines.

“Patience, dear one,” He sounds far too pleased with himself.

Miller huffs, “You’re killing me.”

“I’m only making sure you last long enough to enjoy this.”

“ _Jetii shabuir_...”

“I know, I know,” He soothes playfully, reaching up to gently press on his chest, “Sit back further.”

Miller begrudgingly shuffles backward, and then is completely fixated by the way Qui-Gon climbs onto the cot after him, the way his hair and his robes hang and tickle the skin of Miller’s legs as he tenses, the Jedi crawls over him, hovering for a moment, before settling down to straddle his thighs. Miller gasps against his weight, and of the startling sensation of the smooth underside of Qui-Gon’s bare legs against his, strong and firm as he tightens them around him.

Miller raises his hands, enraptured; he wants to touch them, “Uh... can I...?”

“You may” Qui-Gon reaches down and takes his hands, guiding them under the hem of the robe to settle against the firmness of his hips. Miller takes in a sharp breath, hands delicately trailing down the tops of his thighs, fingers pressing into the skin, slowly dragging his hands back up, his thumbs lightly skimming the soft flesh of his inner thighs and Qui-Gon suddenly lets out a light grunt, his hips gently rocking forward.

“Sorry,” Miller says automatically, heart in his throat as his eyes dart back up to his face and he sees the flush of arousal there, and Qui-Gon chuckles a little breathlessly, reaching up to loosen the tie holding his robe together, concealing his own arousal from view.

“It’s alright” He hums playfully, “That was a good sound.”

Miller’s breath stops hard in his chest as the fabric falls gracefully from his shoulders and onto the cot, his figure just as he remembered it from his brief glance before, stocky and athletic, a grey dust of hair on his chest leading down to his navel and his erection standing tall and eager. Miller is so distracted by the sight of him that he doesn’t notice the scar for the first few seconds, but when he does, his mind seems to stall.

He doesn’t know why he thought the life of a Jedi was an easy one, but seeing Qui-Gon without clothes confirmed that it wasn’t true, aside from the form figure muscles on his chest and arms, he’s also covered in wide cylindrical marks, like the burn grazes of blaster bolts, but quite a bit thicker, similar to the width of a lightsaber, and mostly focused around the outer skin of his arms. The one most alarming being the jagged scar tissue across the width of his belly, a deep crater cutting just above his navel. 

Miller’s seen a lightsaber in action; he knows what they can do, “Qui-Gon...” 

The Jedi looks at him curiously, and then follows his gaze down, “Ah,” He presses a hand to the scar, gently, as if in remembrance, “A confrontation with a Sith Lord named Maul, don’t worry, it was a long time ago, some years before the war even started.”

The unease settles into Miller despite his reassurance, and he reaches up to press his hand against the scarring, fingers passing along the pronounced divots. This kind of deformation means he didn’t get bacta right away, if at all, it means he was _hurt_. Qui-Gon rarely suffered any strenuous wounds on the field, to think he could be injured like this by anything terrified him. A wound like this would be fatal; perhaps it could have been, if it had been just a few inches deeper.

“Miller,” Qui-Gon gently takes his hand away from the scar, raising it to his mouth to kiss is palm, “I’m alright, I promise.”

“But you weren’t...” Miller mutters sharply, “You could have _died_.”

“And I didn’t,” He explains gently, smiling as he presses Miller’s palm to his cheek, “Dear one, you can’t protect me from something that happened a decade ago.”

Miller exhales heavily, “I realize that...”

The Jedi chuckles and gently pushes him back against the cot, Miller exhales a surprised huff as Qui-Gon shifts up and presses their hips together firmly, the Commander jolts and squirms under the pressure with a strangled gasp, arching and rolling his hips in a way that makes Qui-Gon groan, effectively bringing him back into the moment at hand as the sound stokes that fire again, this time much hotter, as their lengths are pressed together between the warmth of their bellies.

“Mm, the fact that you _want_ _to_ is very sweet, dear one.” Qui-Gon murmurs thickly.

Miller flushes hard, his hands floundering for grip on Qui-Gon’s wrists, “ _Ner’jetii_...”

The weak vitriol in Miller’s voice makes Qui-Gon smile in the way that makes his eyes arch, his smiles always reach his eyes, maybe that’s why Miller found himself getting so lost in that face, just like now, as Qui-Gon’s hands curl and brace against his chest, and his hips start to _move_ , Miller gasps raggedly as their lengths grind together.

He moans helplessly, arching his back and otherwise pinned directly in place, completely at the Jedi’s mercy as entire body is lit up from the burning pleasure, the Jedi watches him with flushed interest, grazing a thumb over Miller’s open mouth before dipping down to catch his voice with his lips.

The commander wraps his arms around him, anchoring himself against the relentless grinding, shuddering with each movement, his hips twitching and searching for the right amount of pressure, “Qui-Gon,” He pants against his mouth, “I need-”

“I know, dear one,” The Jedi pulls back just barely, reaching up to untangle one of Miller’s arms, guiding his hand down between them, and the Commander jolts as their hands together brush against their joined lengths, Qui-Gon directing his fingers to wrap around their shafts, his grip tightening against Miller’s hand as they begin to stroke in time with the grind. Miller’s head goes completely blank. 

Heaving moans begin to escape him, the urgency building through the combination of sensations and direct pleasure, it’s too much, he’s not going to last, “Ah- _kriff_ , Qui-Gon, I’m-”

“It’s alright,” Qui-Gon groans heavily between increasingly pressing kisses, “Let go...”

Miller holds onto him for dear life, the heat bursting and spreading throughout his limbs and he spills with a muffled cry buried into the crook of Qui-Gon’s neck, trembling and moaning as he’s firmly guiding through the aftershocks, gasping against the continued pressure as Qui-Gon follows, forehead against the cot as he moans into Miller’s shoulder, their hands stilling and filthy as they pant heavily against the cot, seed mixing on their bellies as Qui-Gon collapses on top of him.

Miller lets out a groan at the pressure of his weight, relishing the warm contact despite the sweat and filth between them, after a moment of recovery, Qui-Gon pulls up just enough to press his forehead against Miller’s, leaning in to gently kiss him.

The bed wasn’t large enough to fit two people normally, as Qui-Gon shuffles to his side, Miller rolls against him, steadying his breathing against his chest, their legs tangled together as he listens to the Jedi’s heartbeat slowly coming down from its high. Qui-Gon raises their hands that brought them to completion together, twining their fingers, and Miller recoils at the slick and obscene sound it makes.

“Gross” He comments.

Qui-Gon laughs warmly, pulling his hand away to retrieve his cloak still hanging off the side of the cot, “Like I said, far less poetic than harlequin holos,” He offers the thin linen material, “Here.”

Miller unceremoniously clears away their shame, embarrassed at the way he fumbles, and completely relieved when Qui-Gon pulls the cots blanket over their cooling bodies, being naked with someone like this seems really kriffing weird when you aren’t horny, but maybe that’s his inexperience talking. 

In the dark, they settle, warm and comfortable against each other, and Qui-Gon hums, “Despite being much different than what you expected, how would you consider this experience?”

“You were right,” Miller mumbles, completely drained, still humming with the contact of his Jedi, “It’s nice... and afterwards feels really _kriffing_ unnecessary.”

Qui-Gon chuckles, “Well, now you can make a well informed decision on whether or not you’re willing to try it again, there are a few things I have yet to teach you.”

Miller frowns as his blush returns.


End file.
